


Letter to Connor

by VinHampton



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anger, Domestic Violence, Freedom, Misogyny, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Therapy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinHampton/pseuds/VinHampton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vin writes a letter to her late first husband</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letter to Connor

Connor,

Apparently, this is entirely necessary and will help me come to terms with what happened between us and what I did to you. In my opinion, that is something I came to terms with long ago. I have no regrets about killing you. You had it coming, you piece of shit. My only regret is that I didn’t do it earlier. 

If I’d have known how life with you was going to work out, I’d have avoided you that first time I met you. Remember? In that shitty apartment I shared with Rob and Smut and Marta. Rob was your dealer and you came to him to sample the goods. They told me you were a good guy but they didn’t really know you. They didn’t know how you called them scum behind their backs. How you wouldn’t let me see them after I married you. You were terribly jealous of Rob. And you were right to be; not because of me, but because he was so much more of a man than you could have ever dreamed of being. He took me in when I was helpless; not because he wanted to own me but because he was that sort of guy. Because he saw a person in need and wanted to share what little he had.

I suppose your way of life attracted me. Christ, I’d been sleeping on a grotty mattress for years. If I hadn’t married you I’d have ended up a dealer too. Or worse, possibly. Who knows. You were my ticket out of it. I didn’t marry you for love; I was under no illusion, only perhaps I thought I could learn to love you. I suppose that makes me a bad person too. But anyone who saw a way out would have taken it. You had money, you had a large house, you bought me dresses and jewellery. You promised once we were married I could go to university. I wanted to study philosophy at the time. I could never talk to you about it. You were so irrevocably stupid. All you cared about was your money and football and drink. The cocaine, when you did it, made you absolutely insufferable, by the way. You’d go on and on about how well your stocks were doing, as if anyone gave a shit. 

Of course, when I mentioned university to you after we were married, you laughed at me. I kept insisting it was what I wanted and when I wouldn’t stop you punched me. That was the first time. I remember I was so shocked, I could barely speak. You knocked me to the floor; you wanted to hurt me. Do you remember how you apologised and pretended to be horrified by what you’d done? I believed you. I thought, everybody makes mistakes. My eye was swollen for days after and when we met your mother for Sunday lunch I had to use so much makeup to hide it and she still noticed. Remember how you told her I walked into a door? “Clumsy little thing,” she called me. GOD, I hated your mother. Almost as much as I started to hate you.

You did it again when I told you I didn’t want children. This time you didn’t apologise. You poured yourself a drink afterwards and you left the room; you left me on the floor, reeling. I didn’t mention children again after that but I took the pill religiously and hid it from you. Remember, about six months later, when I still wasn’t pregnant, you told me I was probably barren and useless as a woman. I kept taking the pill. As if I’d bring a child into your world. 

Connor, close to the end, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I felt like a dog. I didn’t dare speak to you, except in company because I was obliged to, or in bed to tell you how big your cock was because it was the only way you could cum. It goes without saying I never enjoyed sleeping with you. It was another one of my chores. You never made me cum; I faked it every time and you didn’t notice, or you didn’t care, which seems more likely. I broke a plate once, accidentally; do you remember how you made me kneel on the shards so I could learn my lesson before you let me clean it up? You told me if I ever told anyone you would lock me in the attic. It would be my word against yours: you were a successful businessman; I was some girl with a previous charge for possession of cocaine. Of course they’d have believed you over me.

Even the most obedient dog will turn against its master if it is beaten long enough, Connor. But you were too far up your own arsehole to realise that. 

I lay in bed that last night and I just KNEW I had to do it. I had to kill you or myself. And I didn’t want to die. You fought, you bastard, you thrashed. You wouldn’t go quietly. I knew once the pillow was over your head that there was no going back. If I’d relented - if I’d shown you mercy and let you go - you would have killed me. I have no doubt about it. I held you down; I’d never known I had so much strength. Maybe it was sheer bloody determination. I couldn’t live like that anymore. Nobody should have to live like that. 

It was so hard not to laugh at your funeral. I had to play the grieving wife, and listen to your mother give that bullshit speech about how kind and gentle you were, and about how great a father you would have been. But I knew the truth. 

The world is so much better off without you. 

-V


End file.
